“Protect my son, Clay,” she whispered into his throat. It was not a request but a demand. And she did not know why, but her instinct told her if there was anyone who could keep Edward safe, it was Clayton Ludlow. He may have broken her heart, but everything about him—from his immense size and strength to his undeniable intelligence—promised he was the best protector she could ask for.
“Your son will remain safe, Ara,” he said softly, still stroking her. “You have my word I will do everything in my power to see that nothing happens to either of you.”
She believed him. Perhaps she was the biggest fool in all London, but she believed this man when he made that promise. If only he had kept another promise. The one from long ago. If only he had never stopped loving her.
If, indeed, he had ever loved her.
“Do you hear me?” His fingers tensed on her skull, urging her head back so she had no choice but to look up into his face and meet his gaze. “While I am here, you need not fear anything.”
Oh, but how wrong he was. Her eyes devoured his face, her traitorous body rejoicing at his nearness, and she knew she had everything to fear in his presence. She had to fear her reaction to him. Had to fear her ability to resist him. Had to fear he would ruin her all over again, just as he had eight years before, and she would let him.
I should tell him Edward is his son, she thought suddenly. He deserves to know. Edward deserves to know his father.
She opened her mouth, the confession ready on her tongue. But she could not force herself to do it. Not now. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. “Promise me something,” she said instead.
He raised a brow, his knowing fingers still working her scalp and skimming her spine with only the barrier of loosened laces and her chemise beneath separating them. “What do you want from me, Ara?”
Ara.There it was again, her name in his mellifluous voice. She ought to correct him, but something had changed between them, their walls briefly lowering, and she was loath to erect hers just yet. This closeness felt too good. Too right.
And she needed this promise from him. Needed it more than anything she had ever needed in her life. For even if there was not a threat that had been directly made against Edward, it did not mean he was not in danger. “Promise me if something should happen, and if you are faced with the choice of either protecting my son or protecting me, you will choose my son.”
He frowned. “I will protect you both equally, however I must.”
She shook her head. “No. It must be him first. Always him.”
His lips tightened. “You are a good mother, Ara. Just as I always knew you would be.”
The praise took her by surprise. “It is a selfish wish, for my son to be protected. I have already lived my life. He has yet to live his. Whatever danger faces us, he is an innocent. I could not bear it if anything happened to him.”
Tears threatened to return.
But he would not allow them to fall. He shocked her by cupping her cheeks, his thumbs tracing her cheekbones in broad strokes that sent a surge of warmth between her thighs. “I promise I will protect your son above all else, Ara,” he said solemnly.
Yourson, she wanted to say.
But she did not. Instead, she closed her eyes and lifted her face, her mouth finding his cheek. She kissed him there, against logic and reason and most assuredly against self-preservation. Against common sense and past knowledge and her conscience and her pride and…
She kissed him again. Just a gentle press of her lips to his skin. “Thank you,” she murmured.
Another kiss. Then another until somehow, she had found her way to his jaw. He was so familiar, and suddenly it was as if the time between them had never been. She was one-and-twenty again, in the arms of the man she loved. Her body took control, and she was helpless. Mindless. It was a bittersweet homecoming.
The rasp of his whiskers thrilled her. His scent invaded her senses. She became aware of everything in that moment. Aware of his hands caressing her face, of his big body burning into hers, of the fact they sat upon her bed, and she was in his lap.
Aware of the thick, hard jut of his arousal surging beneath her.
An answering pang of desire blossomed in her core, a shameful gush of wetness bathing her flesh. She wanted him inside her so much she ached with the need. She pulsed and hungered and longed. More kisses. She moved down his throat. She could not stop kissing him, it seemed.
And then, she was flying. Just for a moment. Just until she landed in a discarded, half-disrobed heap in the center of her bed.
Clay stood over her, his expression dark, fury making his angular jaw go rigid. “I will protect your son, Duchess.” His tone was biting. “Save your wiles for a man more inclined to fall victim to them.”
He offered her a mocking bow, and without waiting for her response, he stalked from the chamber, slamming the door at his back. Ara flinched at the sound, such finality resonating within it. She had never been more ashamed of herself in all her life.
What had she been thinking?
Why had she kissed him?
She stared unseeing at the intricate plasterwork on the ceiling above her. It did not matter how much time had passed, damn it all. She was still just as much a fool for Clayton Ludlow as she had been eight years past.
